


Tony Stark is the Biggest Kid We Know (and we like him that way)

by florahart



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M, Tony believes in little kids, deaged avengers, original kid characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:51:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florahart/pseuds/florahart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Tony was surprisingly good with kids, and one time it was hard to deal with his own kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tony Stark is the Biggest Kid We Know (and we like him that way)

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially posted a month or so ago at the kink meme, [here](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/11065.html?thread=24973369#t24973369) for a prompt about Tony being surprisingly good with kids. Please note that section 4 has a bit of a warning associated with it; that warning is noted at the end of the fic, so if you need to know, go there to look please. No one dies or is maimed, though, and it's nothing in the standard AO3 warnings.

**One**

"Hey, no. See, your mom wants a picture, and you're screaming. You can't--okay, it's the beard, right? I've heard babies get freaked out by beards." Tony put his free hand in front of his mouth. "Better?"

The kid snuffled at him.

"Yeah, okay, only this is going to get awkward isn't it, me talking at you through my hand? How are you going to hear me, plus, what's it going to do to the picture? Maybe I should cover your eyes instead." He moved his hand out and flipped it to cover the kid's eyes.

Predictably, the kid reached up and started peeling away fingers.

"Peekaboo!"

The kid giggled, and Tony covered his own eyes, then lifted his hand. "Peek!"

"Peet!"

"Excellent! Gotta work on that K sound, but I mean, you're what, one? You got time. Hey, should we let your mom get the picture now? Or more peeks?"

"Peet!"

"Okay. One more peek, then pic, right?" Tony covered his eyes, but the kid reached and pulled his hand over to his own eyes, and then pulled it away.

"Peet!"

"aboo!" Tony laughed, and the kid did too as the flash went off. "We good? We buds? Okay, back to Mama now?"

The kid reached for Mama, and Tony let him go and turned to Bruce. "Ready?"

"You're surprisingly good with little kids."

"I'm good at a lot of things." Tony waggled his eyebrows, and Bruce rolled his eyes.

"Yes, but most of them involve science, engineering, more science, or the science of partying."

"Hey, child development is a field of psychology, and psychologists insist that's a science, so. Also, I think I'm insulted. Should I be insulted?"

Bruce grinned. "Probably."

 

**Two**

"Apparently I'm only allowed to read to you from the approved books." Tony rummaged through the pile while Coulson's great-niece watched him without comment.

It was a little worrying to see a four-year-old that was apparently already expert in unflappability. Maybe it was genetic.

"So, this one? Because I can read it and all, but they did not say I wasn't allowed to offer comments of my own."

Thea tilted her head, then pulled his arm out of the way and crawled into Tony's lap.

"Right, well. First of all, this book is probably not an official part of the Winnie the Pooh canon, but it's a Little Golden Book, so I'm sure they handled licensing and all. What do you know about Winnie the Pooh?"

"Silly old bear."

"True. Now, a few years ago, I would have cautioned that bears do not, in fact, talk, even in silly and honey-obsessed ways. Neither do piglets."

"This one does," Thea pointed out.

"Yes, as I was saying, that was a few years ago. Since then, I've seen things that have adjusted my worldview. But, let's get to reading. Oh, look, they're going to gather pebbles. I don't think I ever did that as a kid. Have you? Gathered pebbles?"

"Not in a sock," Thea said.

"Should we gather some now? I do own some socks."

"Uncle Phil said no going out."

"Yeah, I know, but I have an idea. Hey, JARVIS?"

"Sir?"

"I need there to be pebbles to gather. We have rocks, right? So, maybe a little judicious smashing on the floor outside the lab?"

"I shall see what I can do, sir."

Tony looked at Thea. "One pebble-collecting arena, coming up. Should we have some juice while we wait?" Thea looked pointedly at the book. "Oh, okay. We could finish the book. Wait, this isn't where we left off. Were you reading on your own while I was distracted? If you can read to yourself, why am I reading to you?"

"Because I like it."

"Right. Oh, look. They're counting their pebbles. Should we do that, too?"

"If we want to know how many we have," Thea said.

"What if we don't? Want to know, I mean."

"We could still count them in case we want to know later."

"You are definitely Coulson's niece."

 

**Three**

"Wait, _how_ , exactly, did this happen?" Tony looked at Steve, who set down his shield and shrugged, and Bruce, who shook his head. "Um, how about you guys?"

Thor, who had been reduced to what Tony guessed was age five, was busy trying to pick up a Mjolnir that hadn't shrunk with him. Apparently five-year-olds were not worthy of rule, and Tony thought a tantrum might be imminent.

Natasha, also perhaps five, offered a languid shrug and said in Russian that previously she had been doing memory drills, and now she was here. Then she scowled and asked whether she was supposed to have answered in English.

Clint was busy climbing the curtains.

Tony sighed. "Okay. Bruce, you take Thor for pop-tarts. Thor, buddy, Bruce has pop-tarts. They're like tiny pastries. Want some?"

Bruce blinked. "Uh, Tony, what if--"

"What, you think he can take out a demi-god? You'll be fine. Try not to take down the building if things get out of hand. Steve, you take Tasha."

Natasha glared at Steve and his shield and muttered something about Americans, but Tony just smiled. "Try not to let her stab you or anything."

"I might hate you," Steve said, but he held out his hand. "Natasha, how do you feel about going down to the gym for some sparring?"

Tony watched them go, then turned to look at Clint, who was balanced on the curtain rod at the top of the three-story room. Tony thought he might be a little older than the others, maybe seven. "Hey, bud."

"Name's not Bud."

"Well yeah, I know. Hey, Clint."

Clint narrowed his eyes. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm a spy. Know what I've got?"

"If you're a spy, you probably've got a knife in your shoe."

"I do have shoes with blades, but..." Tony stuck out his bare foot. "Not right now. So I was going to say, I have a climbing wall and a shooting range."

"Can I shoot real bullets?"

"Can you explain gun safety to me? Also, I think you'd like a bow better."

"How do you--Why do spies know things about me?"

"You're just that special. Come on, let's see how fast I can adapt a bow to fit your arms."

Clint leaped for the curtain and slid down quickly, and Tony stepped forward to grab him around the waist. " _Hey_! Lemme _go_!"

"Chill. I'm just making sure you don't decide to go up again because while I _can_ put on the suit and grab you, it'd be a pain."

"Suit?"

"Costume. It flies and has lasers. I'll show you later if you're good."

"Or if I go up again."

Tony rolled his eyes. "JARVIS, was I like this as a kid?"

"My files would indicate you were worse, sir."

Clint grinned. "So, suit?"

 

**Four**

"So, we all done here?" Tony didn't wait for an answer before blasting off. "In that case I'll meet you back at the Tower." He did wait for Cap's nod, because experience said that even though he would totally hear an order to return, Cap got cranky about that sort of thing. But, it really was all interfacing with the local units and getting started on mop-up, and _other_ experience said Tony mostly pissed people off at that stuff, so he was always sent on home.

He arced up high and spun before heading for--wait a minute.

He looped back, looking across the water, and sighed, then went up and over the bridge, keeping an eye on the situation as he flew and flipping up the faceplate as he landed.

"Hey. What gives?"

The girl standing on the rail startled, but he'd expected that, and had a hand in place to catch.

"So, okay, for reference, you know who I am, right?"

She nodded, scowling.

"Good, now, superhero code says I totally cannot let you jump, because it would be definitely unsuper, and in case you don't know, if you duck past my arm and jump anyway, I have thrusters and I _would_ catch you, so just, fair warning, if you're really intent on doing this, today is not the day."

"Fuck off."

"Direct, I like it. Hey, as long as we're communicating, what's the thing that has you up here?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"No, I know. I mean, I was orphaned as a teenager, my dad ignored me a lot anyway, people've tried to kill me ummmm three or four times? I don't know. Twice it was the guy who was my surrogate dad, so that was extra special. I've nearly died _several_ other times because poison, nukes, aliens, you name it, and in case you're thinking it's all just violence, I should add that I finished a master's degree when I was seventeen, so we can just take the cruelty of teenagers as given during my secondary schooling and college in general. But--"

"You still wouldn't--"

" _But_ ," Tony said, holding up a finger, "you are completely right that it doesn't follow that just because I had what therapists like to call _issues_ \--still do, they have numbers and everything, and I think they might be considering adding something to the next DSM just for me--I know jack shit about what's going on with you. Hey, since I am definitely not letting you do this today, wanna come back with me and meet the rest of the issues brigade? We can, I don't know, get ice cream or something. JARVIS? Can you arrange ice cream?"

"I don't think snacks with superheroes is going to make anything go away."

"Nope, me either, but I hear tell suicide is often impulsive, and right now, I'm hoping to get you past the impulse. Plus, maybe one of them has issues that match yours."

"You're really not very good at reassuring me everything will get better and smiling and telling me cliches."

"Can't guarantee the getting better thing, although the odds are good. Well, unless it's a money problem, which I can definitely fix, or a science problem which I can, or the guy in the next lab. Or a business problem, or maybe political... okay, maybe I can. Guarantee, I mean. Unless it's that cruelty of teenagers thing. That's universal and it sucks."

"What if I come back tomorrow?"

"You might. I'm hoping not. Ice cream? I'm Tony, by the way."

"Said I know who you are," she told him. "Who's JARVIS?"

"AI. Lives in my house and my suit. Helps me with shit and keeps me alive. Now that we've done introductions, oh, wait, and _your_ name was?"

"Guinevere. Seriously."

"OK. If you tell me you're up here because of a controversy between boys named Artie and Lance, I'm going to start questioning reality again, but meanwhile, is that the name you like to be called?"

"Gwen is fine."

"Cool. Come on, Gwen. Want a ride? Actually, you don't have a choice since I'm intent on not letting you do anything impulsive except gorge on ice cream today."

"Ride from a stranger?"

"Yeah, because I will definitely harm you worse than those rocks down there." Tony rolled his eyes. "We can walk if you want, but it's kind of far."

 

**Five**

"Not your kind of party?" 

Tony sat down between the tall sets of shelves as the kid looked up from his book with a glare of disgust. "No." he went back to reading.

"Mind if I sit with you for a while? I'm supposed to be the entertainment, but as the guest of honor has apparently vanished, I'm on ice."

The kid looked up sharply. "You're the entertainment? They said they were doing some charity thing."

"Yep, that's me. Iron Man, at your service. I don't usually do this kind of thing, but Cap was busy and I mean, all I'd be doing at home is working on the thruster controls. Plus, charity, and my... the people who don't actually employ me but still we all sort of pretend they can boss me, they like if I do something along this line every once in a while. All good."

"Isn't Iron Man, you know, made of metal?" The kid crinkled his nose. "I think when I've seen images...I mean, it's metal, so you'd need to put on--nevermind. Did my mom send you to find me?"

"It' _is_ made of metal, and the first one I pretty much needed a crane to get into, but Mark Nine is a lot more flexible. Your mother did not send me, largely because I'm bad at taking orders and wouldn't have noticed if she'd tried but I think she was mostly concerned with hors d'oeuvres . Hey, how come your folks planned twelfth birthday party for you and did the whole charity shebang with me, and you don't even care--no, wait. That's not the question I want to ask. What I'm asking is, clearly you don't want a party like this, and I suspect if your opinion was sought, you'd have said so, so why the hell is this the party being had?"

"Because we have to be seen doing things for those less fortunate," the kid recited. 

"Wow, seriously? Because, I mean, the people who pretend they can boss me think stuff like that, but I was hoping kids these days were a little immune to that sort of thing. It's not like a guy can't do great things for other people without showing off." Tony paused. "Okay, not if they're _me_ , because if you ask anyone who knows me, showing off is right next to breathing for me. But in principle."

"Any chance you can explain that to my mother? Ever?"

"I can give it a shot, although I think sometimes rich parents aren't good listeners. Well, no, I mean, that's a gross exaggeration, but it'll do."

"Yeah." The kid put the book down, and Tony caught a glimpse of the cover. "So, who is it that pretends to boss you, exactly?"

Tony winked. "It's pretty secret, and you're not old enough--legally, I'm not impugning your intelligence or other excellent attributes--to sign a nondisclosure agreement. But I mean, you keep reading up on obscure international diplomacy, and maybe one day you'll come work for the good guys."

"Yeah?"

"Sure. Hey, I should probably go be Iron Man, but I'd rather put the suit on here, if that's okay. Don't worry, there's no stripping involved."

"I wasn't that worried. Also, wait, where is it?"

Tony tapped the briefcase and stood. "Watch and see."

 

**And One**

"Isn't there some kind of natural limiting mechanism for this kind of thing?" Tony had to speak up over the howls of their son, currently bleeding from a new gash along the left eyebrow.

"Nope," Bruce said. He passed over the tape. "As far as I can tell, he'd rather have thirty scars than opt out of any opportunity to climb, break, push, pull, or ride, oh, anything. Also, he'd probably calm down a lot faster if you held him." he sounded calm enough, but Tony knew very well that watching Drew bleed elevated his pulse pretty badly; they'd agreed early on that Tony would have to be the go-to bandager for this kid..

Tony wiped away the welling blood again. "JARVIS, does this need stitching? Bruce, what do you think?"

"A stitch might--"

"Seriously?" Clint plunked down on the couch, absently wiping off the blood smear on the corner of the coffee table. "Come on, it'll just add character. Which, being your kid, he desperately needs. Also, being your kid of _course_ he leaps then looks." 

Tony scowled and flipped Clint the bird behind Drew's head. "It won't stop bleeding, though. Also, tables should be round and squishy and what was I thinking?"

"That you wanted to be able to set down solid objects? And, sure it will. Here." Clint picked up a fresh piece of gauze and folded it, then took the offered piece of tape and secured it in place, then looked at Tony. "If I thought you'd ever sat though SHIELD emergency workshops, I wouldn't remind you, but since the odds are like zero in a million, now is when you apply some pressure. Also, cuddling. And since you are apparently terrible at that... Come up here, kid. You gotta learn to check your footing. Basic spycraft. We'll get Nat working on it with you soon."

"You will not!"

Drew climbed up into Clint's lap and shoved his thumb in his mouth as Clint pressed a gentle hand over the cut. "Will too," Clint said. "Eventually. Even if it's just for self-defense against coffee tables that come out of nowhere."

Tony sighed. "I like little kids. How is this--"

"He just has a lot of energy, Tony," Bruce said. "It's a good thing. You wouldn't want a listless kid, a kid with no imagination. I mean, how could you have one anyway, but besides that."

"This is all my fault for contributing sperm," Tony agreed. "We should have gone to the sperm bank."

"Yeah, because tossing genetic crapshoot onto the table with your little heart problem and my little... metabolic imbalance--"

"Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Yes. Because adding random genetics would be a brilliant idea."

Drew sat up and slid off Clint's lap, toddling back to Tony. "I okay now, Daddy." He patted Tony's head and went to Bruce and patted his, too. "Snack time."

Tony shook his head. "Nothing in my life prepared me for children."

Clint snorted. "Stark, you're the biggest kid I know. Every minute is preparation, if you look at yourself from the other side. Now go feed that child snacks. He needs energy to heal."

Tony stood as Bruce did, and picked up Drew. "What're we having?"

"Poptarts," Drew said firmly.

"Oh, yeah. We're awesome at this." Tony shook his head. "All right. Poptart search underway. Bearing, straight ahead, first kitchen on the right."

**Author's Note:**

> Section 4 includes an OFC who is contemplating, not particularly graphically, suicide.


End file.
